International Relations
by December Writing Dragon
Summary: Really, politics are far more delicate than many people realize. When their dating lives end up causing some conflicts, Russia, America, France and England must come to some resolution for that which is most sacred to any nation who needs a break from conference dullness. RusAme, FrUK, implied GerIta.


International Relations

"It seems we have reached an impasse, gentlemen," England opted to say what everyone was thinking. There they sat, staring across from each other around the small outdoor table, the idle chit chat of fellow patrons lost to them in the dire nature of their situation. Beside England's stiff businesslike posture France sat lounging graciously in his seat as though he owned the place. Across from them Russia and America's postures were as different as night and day as well. Russia had taken on a rather relaxed, welcoming posture, fingers laced delicately together in polite contemplation. To his right, however, America was hunched over, all annoyance and tension in the shoulders and brow.

"I think this matter can be solved rather easily," France said airily, brushing a wavy blond lock from his face.

"Yeah, it can be. You guys find your own spot," America said, banging an open palm against the tabletop. The action sent their glassware rattling.

"Why should we?" England demanded to know, thick eyebrows inching together. "ou two have no claim over that area."

"No more than you do," Russia pointed out softly, violet eyes dancing. This earned him a green-eyed glare.

Earlier that day, France and England had- as had happened on several occasions previously- decided it was time to ditch the meeting, and made for their favorite closet. It was an ideal location, very out-of-the-way, and with a working lock from the inside! They had already begun kissing as they stumbled down the hall toward their special location, but as France turned the handle and they slid in, England found himself bumping heavily against Russia, whose scarf was draped loosely about his shoulders as a shirtless America kissed along his neck. All tenderness quickly evaporated as the nations commenced a custody argument, each pair trying to kick the other out. The debate lasted so long that break time had ended before they could even agree on who should leave. In the end, all four of them had been discovered by an irate Germany who had no problem telling them off then and there while Italy tried to placate him for their sake.

America rolled his eyes at the memory. "Look, we were there first. It shouldn't have even been a debate." Russia nodded coolly beside him. "What makes you two think you can just march in and call permanent dibs?"

"Seniority," France chimed in silkily, idly swirling the contents of his wine glass. "We have used that closet far longer than you two, I assure you."

"You believe so?" Russia asked in amusement.

"We know so," England corrected.

"Oh yeah? When did you two start using it?" America challenged.

"Ah, ah," France chided quickly. "We shall say the year at the same time. So no one can change their answer to suit them."

They all nodded. This is it, England thought, an end to this debate at last.

"'85!"

"'54!"

England gaped at them. "YOU'VE BEEN AT THIS SINCE THE FIFTIES!?" he choked. Several heads turned toward the source of the outburst. His already wild hair seemed to stand further on end as he took in their gloating expressions.

France, meanwhile, was looking at them as one contemplates a tricky yet manageable math problem. "Ah, I see," he mused, eyes alight with revelation.

"Guess if anything, we should call dibs cause of seniority," America said, grinning toothily.

"Come on, Fedya, the flowers need to be moved in," Russia said, rising from his seat.

"Flowers?" England echoed dully.

Russia nodded. "Da, we were actually working on moving in some personal touches. Of course, we became a bit- ah- distracted." He broke off, pale cheeks dusted pink. France winked.

"Yeah, I'll go grab those posters," America said, rising as well.

England slammed his fists onto the table. "Oh no you two don't! That closet is ideal in every way! It's far from everyone else, it's nicely insulated so it's warm in the winter, cool in the summer, that sky light gives it nice natural lighting, it's spacious, and has a lock on the inside! You two can't possibly claim that just for yourselves."

"Watch us," Russia said.

"I propose a challenge," France declared, rising as well. "Not for permanent custody, but perhaps we can arrange a schedule? We shall switch who has it for each meeting based on who wins."

"Alright, but we each get to pick a challenge, so it's not any one thing only one person has an advantage over," America added.

And so they migrated to the hotel, breaking off only to fetch the instruments necessary for their "challenges."

"I propose chess," Russia said, holding up his prized set.

"I propose Battleship!" England declared ceremoniously as he held up a board.

"I propose Monopoly!" America crowed, waving the game about.

Three sets of eyes turned to France, waiting to see what strategic challenge he would throw into the mix.

"I propose Twister!" he announced, an almost manic gleam in his eye as he brandished the plastic mat open before them.

And so began the series of challenges fought with such fervor not seen since the Olympics. In the end, stuck at a tie between each side, none of it mattered because apparently Germany and Italy had been using that closet as their place to get away from the madness of conferences before any of them. Seniority won out after all, and as America glumly repacked the space posters he had hung up, an idea occurred to him.

"Russia, dude, who needs that closet? Let's make our hangout place the moon!"

THE END

Keep an eye out for an omake featuring everyone competing. Reviews, as always, appreciated!


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